My Kryptonite
by clawswrites
Summary: Brian has found his weakness: Justin Taylor. Reference to episode 215. Brian's POV. Interal Monologue. R&R.


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for this story line. No profit was made through the production of this story.**

**A/N: This is my first QAF FanFiction story. I hope I kept in Brian's character but I figured out its difficult doing inner monologue of someone who doesn't talk about his feelings. I hope I did Kinney justice. Read and Review please!**

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><p>I can't believe this is really happening to me. It's just so fucking unbelievable that if you had told me almost two years ago that it would happen to me, I would have laughed it off, called you a "fucking muncher" and disappeared to find some hot and meaningless trick from the mass of sweating male bodies on the dance floor of Babylon.<p>

But that was before I met him.

Justin _fucking_ Taylor, the persistent twink that had managed to wriggle his way past my nonchalant attitude, my barriers, and make a home in my, abet stubborn, heart. An achievement very few people can claim to.

That night, outside of Babylon, where I had first caught a glimpse of the blond teen with his blue eyes, those pouty lips, that bubble butt…I knew that second he was what I wanted. He had been there at Gus' birth, made final judgement on my boy's name. Maybe that's when I first felt the – god; I sound like such a fucking dyke – connection between us both.

And the sex! God, there was nothing like it. For a virgin, and with someone that has the experience in the field of sex that I have, Justin was one of the best fucks I've ever had. Still is, since I'm being honest. I still remember how it felt to be inside him – tight, hot and _delicious_. He made this noise, something between a sob and a pled, when I hit his prostate had on, his hands clutching mine like I was something fucking scared…

It's my favourite sound.

It was supposed to be a one night thing. A Brian Kinney rule - no emotions involved, just a fuck. But of course this fucking twink had to keep coming back, taking all my shit and not caring. He worked his way into my life – my friends, my hangouts, my tricks – until I had no chance of avoiding him; until he had found a family within us all.

And now he's in my home. From the sofa, I can see Justin and Mikey working on that fucking comic book – _Rage_. I…may have been jealous…only a little though, of the time the two spent together, of the creative connection the two shared (thanks a lot Ben for pointing it out!).

Seeing them together, on my bed, in my loft…I let my emotions get the better of me, and I really hurt him. I hared seeing that pathetic look on his puppy dog face, those beautifully sad eyes, more so than Mickey's.

I had to make it better. I had to fix it.

Fuck Debbie for being right.

I could see Justin's face light up, a beaming smile on his lips, as he was complimented on his artwork. I understand why Debbie calls him "Sunshine". It's just…what he is, his whole fucking being.

_Sunshine._

I frowned slightly when I saw him wince and flex his hand. It was small, barely noticeable, and yet another reminder of all Justin had survived, of his courage and bravery through that fucking attack. That night, prom night, was one of the worse experiences of my life; a pure fucking nightmare.

I can remember the blood, warming my hands as I pathetically tried to stop the bleeding; the way it felt sliding so fucking easily between my fingers. I thought he was going to die – I thought he was going to die without knowing what he meant to me, meant to everyone.

Those days were some of the slowest and emotional weeks of my life. I had distanced myself from everything; I refused to let anyone know how much it affected me to see Justin in that unconscious and vulnerable state. Hell, I blamed myself for everything that had happened that night – I should have never shown up at St. James' and I should have been able to stop it, to save him. It was confirmed by Jennifer the minute she entered the hospital ward. I remember everything was numb, my senses dulled – I think Mickey may have defended me but I can't be sure. I just sat there and took the abuse, clutching that designer silk scarf, soaked red with the twink's blood, in a tight grip and refused to let go. At the time, it had been the only thing that had kept me from breaking down like a muncher; like Lindsey and Melanie had when they saw Justin bloodied, beaten and attached to all those machines.

I still have it. The scarf, I mean. I'm not sure why I kept it – it still has the fucking blood stained in the white silk. I hadn't even tried cleaning it since that night. I still wear it every now and then. I like to feel the fabric against my bare chest. Not as much as I did when…but still a fair amount; more than I should anyway, and _way_ more than I will admit to.

I caught Justin's gaze over Mikey's shoulder and he gave me this smile, that special smile that I strongly and wilfully believed is reserved for me personally. It meant I was forgiven – at least for now. I felt my lips twitch upward in return, the tension draining from my body at the silent understanding.

I felt strange, oddly at ease despite the lightness of my chest. It was something that had started happening since Justin had left the hospital and Jennifer had practically forced the kid into my home. I could almost laugh at the irony of the whole situation. It had to take the blond having the shit kicked out of him and nearly fucking dying before I realised that I cared for the fucking beautiful twink.

I sighed, but whether it was in defeat or annoyance I couldn't tell you, and relaxed against the arm of my designer leather sofa. My arm was folded over my eyes and I gazed down at the character drawings of the new protector of gays everywhere, Rage.

_Me, in tights_.

The detail was amazing, very specific to how one person would see another; me in cartoon form. Debbie was right, as usual in her overly-protective mother hen way. They look up to me, but god knows why.

My heart fluttered – only slightly – at the thought of Sunshine looking up to me despite all the shit that's wrong with me. I bit back a groan and raised my eyes line to the ceiling, the hand holding the picture dropping slightly.

_God I am so fucking screwed_.

FIN.


End file.
